


Thundercat

by warschach



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Comfort, Firefighters, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shapeshifting, Smut, basically two dorks falling in love and fixing each other in the woods, firefighter! Lance, minor shallura, werejaguar! Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:50:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8808484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warschach/pseuds/warschach
Summary: “Where’s the big cat?”
He scratched under his chin and thumbed at the naked dude. “Um, we think it might be that dude but we’re debating other stuff right now.”
“No seriously,” he insisted, waiting for someone to break out the punchline.
“Serious like a motherfucker.”
(Or Lance lives in the woods and finds a jaguar who happens to be a really attractive human)





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is ratchet, i'm sorry i love shapeshifters.

 

Lance lived in the woods. Kind of like that Grizzly dude minus bears and sleeping with bears, petting bears— a blanket of no bears cause unlike Grizzly, they would fucking eat his face if he attempted a bear hug.

And no, he wasn’t a weirdo.

Wasn’t on the run from the mob or the feds.

Life in the city got too complicated and swollen for his taste, then he figured his tio’s remote cabin in the woods would do him just fine. Lance completed all the Skyrim games to an impressive eighty-nine percent. Plus he non-stopped marathoned programs on Animal Planet and Discovery, like he knew how to purify and filter his own piss not that he w _ould_ but that he _could_.

 So he was prepared for man versus wild.

Besides the cabin was closer to a luxury resort rented out to middle income families, so it had the essentials but didn’t break the bank.

 It had three levels, two bathrooms with plumping, lights powered by a noisy generator in the basement, a fridge, an oven, a sink, a brick chimney that smoked out grey swirls— heating was shit though so to stay warm he regularly chopped wood and kindled up a fire on chilly nights. He had to boil water if the  boiler downstairs was on the fez. Herbs and vegetables were a regular in his diet plan since his tio already established a little garden on the side of the cabin.

The place had a porch with a white, rugged rocking chair and wind chimes. Wood boards creaked and whined under his feet and were marked with rings and age. To get a decent reception on his cell phone, Lance needed to stand in a very specific spot on the main floor or trek outside the cabin down the driveway where it merged from dirt to asphalt.

 No TV, dun. The internet sort of worked on clear days. He could squeeze in a few dozen videos and he had a collection of movies downloaded on his laptop.  The first week he wanted to chicken out and run home but home had his demons and all that, so nah. His tio had two bookshelves bending under the stacks of books so he devoted a lot of hours to sitting in the quiet and living through the pages.

Like he legitimately read _Lord of the Rings_ , the book.

Lance learned how to fish, poorly.  True, there was a rifle in the cabin and he had experience to at least not shoot his own foot but he couldn’t kill Bambi or Thumper. Deers were jerks too and had ticks, so he passed on that.

Wasted hours of shouting and bitching from English to Spanish until every silver scaled fish swam away. Ate the granola bars Allura pleaded he take with him and then came back the next day at dusk, determined to pin one fuck on his lure and grilled him like they did at Red Lobster. Several hours later and many deals to the devil, the line tightened and Lance cranked his first meal.

Getting the scales off was tedious and difficult but once it was off the fire and in his mouth, every hardship sweetened the taste.

Granted he could avoid the whole situation if he really desired so.

He had his car parked by some oaks where it gathered dead leaves and bird poop, a healthy amount of cash to get him by a whole year, and a city that measured out two hours away. It wasn’t as though Lance would die of starvation but running back to grocery store was the same as admitting he was running from his problems.

 Lance was Mexican, the last thing he would do was admit that.

Anyway, it took him outside of his head and everybody knew if you lingered outside, then no inner demons came a knocking.

Allura visited every few weeks, expecting to find Lance dead, and found him chopping up wood with the cabin and tall pines as his back splash.  The relief at discovering his thriving body was quickly replaced with disinterest and snark.

“Glad to see you aren’t dead.” Allura stepped out of the car and stumbled over in high heels.

Lance shouldered the axe, whipping his brows with the back of his sleeve. He felt like Hugh Jackman in from that bad Wolverine origins movie, all he needed was a cigar, a lover, and mutant powers.

 “Can you try that line again but actually give a fuck?” He laughed, then drove the tip of the axe into the tree stump. It chunked in with a hard thunk and stood handle up in the air.

Regaining her balance on the ground, she lifted a plastic bag and a familiar, spicy scent wafted up his nose. “Or I could just eat this myself and tell mom you didn’t want it.”

_Pozole_ , his mind realized savagely. By the gods!

She danced the gift in front of his face, the soup inside the container sloshing back and forth.

He went for it but Allura snatched it back and pretended to sniff it and lick her lips as though she would consume right there.

“No, no. Please. I want to eat something besides fish and berries.”

And a bag of Reese’s, which he packed with him before moving here, so that didn’t count.

“Then move back,” she said, handing him the bag.

“I’m lazy.”

“Lance,” she started, tender.

He roped an arm around her waist and nuzzled her collarbones. She smelled of fresh lilacs and old books. “C’mon. I hope you brought beer too.”

She hugged him back and let it pass this time, “Yea. It’s in the trunk.”

“Sweet. I’ll get it and I’ll warm up some pozole for us. How about that, can you stay for a few hours?”

“Yea. Shiro’s with the baby and the school had a half day for the students so I’m all yours.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

Lance flipped tortillas by hand—a bad habit he picked up from his dad who chose to forgo tongs and used fast reflexes—, hissed when the heat burned him, and piled the charred tortillas on a plate next to the stove. Two bowls of pozole cooled on the table as Allura popped off the bottle caps on two Coronas and put away the rest in the fridge.

She kicked out a chair, crossed her legs, and sipped leisurely from the bottle as she stared out the floor to ceiling windows.  When his tio was building it at the time, he wanted to have the entire cabin with tall windows but couldn’t really afford it at the so he managed just the one wall at the back.

Natural light, green pines, and earthy tones provided a lovely background to the bleached wood panels in the room.

White sunlight streamed into Allura’s ice blue eyes, highlighted the roundness in her face from her one kid, and pointed out the miniscule crow’s feet developing at the corner of her eyes.

Lance dialed down the flame, set the plate in the middle of the table and ripped a tortilla in half and dipped it into the soup. Allura did the same but accidently dribbled some drops on the wood.

He shook his head, laughing with food in his mouth.

Their mom hated how messy an eater Allura was.

She grabbed a napkin and cleaned the mess before Lance could get a word out.

“How’s mom and dad?”

She shrugged, chewing. “Same old, same old. Dad’s still doing his little DIY projects all over the house.”

“Is he actually finishing them this time?”

“Yea. Well he hasn’t retitled our old bathroom.”

“Oh my god, he said he would do it for years when we lived there.”

“I know,” she sighed.

“I told him to wait on it.”

“Yea. The fucking title is still in the garage. Oh and mom adopted another dog.”

He laughed. “Of course. Let me guess a pug.”

“She’s really cute. And fat.”

“And little Manny?”

“He’s good. Talking now actually and he’s starting to curse in Spanish. Shiro took away one of his toys and he called him a _pinche pendejo_.”

Lance slapped his hand on the table and howled. “Shiro’s like ‘I don’t know what you just said but I know it’s not good. No cartoons, buddy.’ I did have to tell him not to say that, obviously. You and dad are a bad influence.”

“Oh shut up. Dad cursed all the time when we were little and we didn’t curse.”

“Because you would get the _chancle_ if you did.”

 “Go old school.”

“Shut up,” she rolled her eyes and tipped back her beer. Swallowed it and burped like the pig she was and then asked, “How long are you planning to stay here?”

Lance’s smile plummeted and he looked anywhere but his sister’s soft face where love and concerned sat bluntly. “Dunno.”

“You have to go back eventually. If you want to resign, Coran won’t mind.”

He turned over the bottle in his hand. “I don’t wanna resign.”

“Listen not everyone can do what you do for a living. It’s scary shit. It’s dangerous. If you go back, fine. We support you. You don’t. That’s okay we’ll still support you and if that means you need to crash at my place while you get it straight. I’m fine with it. Just don’t think it reflects bad on you to walk away.”

Big problem wasn’t walking away, it was walking in. The way in had flames, crumbling stairways, and smoke so it was understandable that most people couldn’t gather up the courage and be recklessness. But Lance wasn’t most people.

He was a firefighter scared to go back into the fire.

Sounded like a shitty conundrum if you asked him.

 

 

 

[x]

 

 

 

Fire was hot, no shit.

Painful.

Sweltering, okay that was another adjective for hot but if you ever stepped into a building while it was _on_ fire then you would get it.

Swift once it ate enough fuel; things like flammable liquids, woods, paper, cotton—metals took longer and a higher melting point so at the end of it, they remained bent and charred

Choking. Once the walls and furniture were aflame, smoke puffed up strong and thick. Couldn’t breathe or see that clearly through it so you’ve better duck down cause more people died choking on the smoke than the flames.

Oppressive when yellow tongue licked up the wall, slithered across the ceiling, made all metal scalding hot to the touch. It surrounded you on all side. Flanked you. Cornered you like an animal. Blocked exits. Torn down the stairs from under your feet as you sprinted up it. Set the rails on fire too, cause why not.

A voice cried and gut instinct barreled Lance through the front door with an axe. Fire exploded through the pock holes he made and he kicked at the weaken wood with the end of his boot. It buckled away and let more flame blow out like a dragon. He ducked down and watched as it hit the spot he was once standing in.

The voice sobbed. Sounded young, fragile, a girl.

He stormed the stairway, certain that the voice was coming from up there. He saw the first door, remembered to check the heat of it from his side first that way he didn’t bust in and set off that explosive effect where the fire were trapped and got the a taste of H2O and exploded.

There was heat but it wasn’t cowered behind the door, waiting.

So he hacked in. Tried to see through smoke, flames, and the fogging on his mask.

No sound. No kids. No animals.

He yelled over the roaring fire, hoping the kid would cry back in response and help narrow down the search.

“Here, here! I’m here! Help me!”

Lance couldn’t pin it down at first the source, hard to with yellow tongue colonizing on every inch of the house and celebrating its hunger.

When he went back out, the staircase was gone. The first two steps hovered in the air and the rest feed into the inferno below.

Not leaving that way, he thought as he trudged forward down the hall. Had to be careful to be fast but not careless cause if the stairs crumble a few minutes ago, then the floor might too and no one would get out if that happened.

Lance passed by a flaming frame with the glass busted and the family of four in the photo being rapidly consumed.  Before bolting in, he saw three people standing on the perimeter holding each other and crying. He saw the little girl’s face right before fire moved over it.

Focus, Lance.

Call out the girl, grab her and find a window to have another guy catch her and then worry about your ass.

Clock was ticking and the fire was growing.

Either he or the kid was making it out or no one was.

He checked the other room and cursed when he got more violent yellow tongue disobeying physics and touching the air.

At the last door down the hall, something sounded out tiny and scared. Lance threw his body into it two times until the door splintered and fell forward with him on top.

She was there, face a mess with tears and snot but otherwise unharmed.

“I got you, sweetie. Come here,” he picked her up and secured her tight to his chest, using as much of himself to cover her body and long, blonde hair.

“I’m scared,” her finger curled into the suspenders on his suit, the straps pulling taut whenever she jerked on it.

“We’re gonna get you out of this,” he promised.

A rookie fucking mistake, you didn’t promise anything to anyone while you’re in the damn house. You had to cut the chatter to the minimum and make sure the person didn’t flip out or do some dumbass stunt that would kill them. But she was a kid and he had his own little nephew that his brain kept flashing through his mind cause this little girl clung to his body like Manny and his protective urges powered into overdrive.

Save. Save

Protect. Protect.

Move your ass, Lance.

He clicked on the radio, “Found a survivor on the south side of the house, second floor. About to drop her with the rope, I need someone to receive.”

“Roger. Moving now,” Matt responded.

Lance drove the shaft of the axe through the window and cleared it of strayed shards and tossed the axe out the back. He reached for the escape rope. “Alright, sweetheart. We gonna need you to climb down this rope, okay. Another firefighter will be outside.”

“I don’t know how to climb.”

Lance hooked the latch, tested the give, and flung out the excess through the window. He helped the girl push her body outside, helping  her crawl backwards over the ledge.

She screamed once she was through it, body wrapping around the rope.

Matt was at the bottom of it.

Lance poked his head out, “Girlie.”

She opened her eyes.

“I need you to be brave right now. Climb down as far as you can. My buddy will catch you.”

She looked down, then looked back at Lance like he asked the impossible of her. “Don’t look down. Keep your eyes on me sweetie.”

It took a bit of encouragement but she wormed down the rope, made it three quarters down it before Matt told her to let go and caught her.

Matt shoved the visor over his helmet and cupped a hand to his mouth, “Get out, the building’s burning too fast.”

That was when the floor decided to collapse under him.

Ground then none, total vertigo.

He fell.

And then the world fell into darkness with him.

 

 

[x]

 

 

Lance rolled out of bed and hit the floor, air getting harder and harder to come by and his body trembling.

He coughed, mind with the impression that smoke filled his lungs, burned his eyes, and clogged up the airways in his nostrils.

Doctor said it was PTSD and that his restless night were due to night terrors from the trauma and that he’d need therapy to coach him back to some semblance of himself before the accident.

Sometimes the pungent scent of burning bugged him. He wouldn’t say trigger.

Flames didn’t bother him. He had a blue moon cig when he was stressed. Plus he chopped wood and took a flame to it during chilly nights— he knew how to make things burn and how to stop it.

Firefighter, duh.

He wasn’t afraid. Never had been, never will be.

Let him put it like this, he had an appreciation for the morality of his life and a crueler understanding of fire.

 Lance thought, _well I went into the fire before and I’ll go again. Thanks for the advice, doc._

Realigning himself from the past to the present took some breathing exercising and his own version of coaching but this had been happening for months, he had it down.

By five minute Lance breathed with gasping breaths, loud and pathetic, but not swollen with smoke.

Minute ten, the uncontrollable shaking in his limbs ceased. His heart required a little more time to return to its steady, not cardiac arrest inducing beats.

 At minute twenty, Lance made it to his feet and on the porch with the rain cacophonous in the woods, mass volume. Density sucked too but he wasn’t some hawk walking on air for the hunt.

No one told you how dark everything got when you traded in the close quarters and lamp posts for song birds and tree barks. The night blanketed the woods in thick and heavy coat of ink.

A fraction of light from the house dented a crack in the black armor and he could see the outline of his Wrangler parked on the side, the shack, the miniature vegetable garden where the stems and green leaves soaked up the rain.

Owls hooted, their wings wet and flapping.

Animals sprinted through the foliage and rattled rainwater off the twigs.

Some water wet his toe where he stood on the mouth of the stairs.

He felt better and figured he might try sleeping in his bed again.

And then something jet black, muscled, wet, and gigantic cut into the light. Round eyes glowed, the light reflecting off its irises, and white teeth flashed right before its four legs buckled without permission. And Lance thought, _well that’s enough for the night_.

But the shape defined into a recognizable form— cat.

A big fucking cat.

He couldn’t just walk away. In the Arms of an Angel played in his mind, sad abandoned kitties with matted fur and watery eyes stared into the camera.

Lance ran into the rain and his feet skidded over wet earth as he slid into a squat beside the cat.

The big cat growled—the sound a deep raspy rumble like an old black muscle car— ears flat and lips drawn back to prove to Lance he could still fight.

Naturally Lance was thinking, _um bad idea._

Nope

No, no, no.

Yes, he loved cats and big cats were his freaking favorite animals at the zoo but they’re in the woods and on unequal footing.

Big cat was scared, hurt—the light allowed him to see enough red running with rain water on its thighs— and just escaped one firefight to jump into another. Understandable it didn’t like some random asshole running up during its most weakest moment and a human most likely shot him so he wasn’t in the mood to trust another hairless prick.

Lance pussed out of therapy. Went frozen when he came back to the job and couldn’t go into that burning house— _move Lance, move Lance, why can’t I fucking move—_ but he wouldn’t now.

Just grab it, it was a fucking cat.

Think of kitties purring and shit.

Little kittens with zero coordination and balance as they navigated the bedroom and tipped over if you tapped their side.

Pink toe beans.

Pink triangle noses.

That way cats rolled on their back and made their arms long to swat at toy out of their reach.

Cats with lion manes bought at Petsmart.

He reached.

The cat did _not_ fucking purr like kitty—abort, abort, abort.

Lance yelped, narrowly avoiding a strike from those dangerous claws.

He shouted because what else were his options— shoot the cat, leave the cat, or save this asshole. “Fucking excuse me thundercat, but you’re on my property.”

Cat glared, like _does it look like I give a fuck, buddy._

“I’m trying to help you.”

BIg Cat rumbled a deep sound of displeasure at Lance. He identified it as a scoff.

“Do you want to bleed out cause you will.”

Big cat shot air out his nose and scowled at the wound. He tried the limb and snarled when pain pierced through. He leaned over and licked at the wound, whining again at the pain.

Big cat looked at him, considering. “We good or what?”

Cat huffed and set his head down. “Cool, cool. Um I’ll wrap it and shit and then I can take you to a friend. She’s good with animals.”

Lance pulled off his drenched shirt, scooted on his knees, looked at big cat’s head and tentatively stretched out the thigh. Big cat cringed, a noise of discomfort passing through its teeth.

Taking that as a sign of sanction, Lance leveled the thigh over his lap and aligned the widest and thickest part of his shirt over the bleeding wound and wrapped it tight.

Big cat yelped, whipping its head to watch Lance. “Sorry. Had to put it tight. I have my car.”

He pointed to it. “I’ll open the back door and put you in.”

Lance ran over into the Jeep, popped the keys from the visor, and started the car. He turned the dials on for the heat to collect in the back.

He ran back and hefted the cat.  “Oh my gawd—“

Big cat grumbled, not happy with this situation.

Lance almost dropped him before he righted his footing and redistributed the weight. Fucking cat had to be over two hundred or something.

“Dude, you’re fucking heavy. You’re not doing any of the lifting so I suggest you shut it.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

So he got the cat in the backseat and probably pulled something in his back while doing so.

“Pidge?”

“Lance, why the hell are you calling this late? I’m at work.”

“About that I found a cat. I think it was shot or something, I don’t know but there’s a lot of blood.”

“Shit, wrap the little guy up first off.”

He checked the back, and nervously laughed at the massive black jungle cat in his car. See it was funny cause he was not a five pound housecat.

Actually, it wasn’t that funny cause this cat could wreck his shit nine ways to Sunday.

He thought how many people would laugh at his funeral when they learned a cat ate him. Lance laughed, okay it was funny again.

“Yup. Little dude is all wrapped up,” he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

_Don’t tell her it’s a giant cat, don’t tell her it’s a giant cat._

She sighed, “Good, that should give him a little more time. Just park behind the shelter where the double doors are, me and Hunk will take care it from there. He’s not yours, right? Does he have any tags?”

“Nope. Not mine. Just found him in the woods.”

“Okay. I can check if he has a chip or not. What kind of asshole would shoot a cat…fuck, sorry. Just hurry as fast as you can, Lance.”

“Will do.”

He ended the call, hitched his arm over the seat, and watched the big cat heaved out ragged breaths. The big cat’s eyes looked back at him, doozy from blood lost and frighten. He chuffed out a soft noise.

“You gonna be alright, cool cat. Now don’t fuck up the leather, please.”

The cat laid his head back down, the rapid rise and fall of his barrel chest lessened to a degree as though he understood Lance’s words and calmed himself. “Don’t fall asleep. I hear that’s a bad move to make in movies so don’t do it.”

The cat flashed its fossilized amber eyes opened and shifted his head so its face was directed to the front of the car and not the passenger door. It blinked past droopy eyes.

“Wow,” he swallowed. “Uh, good kitty.”

The cat grumbled and lazily pulled its black lips back to showcase pointy canines.

“Okay. So just ‘no’ to that nickname. You’re not a kitty that purrs. You’re the kitty that murders. You have an image to uphold.  Street cred, I get it. No more of that then. Let’s go, cool cat.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

“You said a cat. Not a…panther,” Pidge scolded in the rain behind the shelter.

In Lance’s opinion, this wasn’t the place or the time to debate the specifics of the species but he didn’t have the keys to the joint. Pidge did so outside conversation it was.

“Actually that’s a jaguar,” Hunk corrected.

Pidge slowly turned her head to glare and blinked once. “A jaguar,” she amended with venom.

“It’s still a cat.”

“Um no. This is a wild animal.”

“Can you help or not?”

“Of course I will. I’m not a monster or a liar for that matter. Hunk help Lance move him on the gurney; he’s too heavy to carry.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

“Un, Lance?”

Lance staggered to his feet, hands red with dried blood and knees wobbly from the adrenaline withdrawal. “There’s a guy in here.”

He walked over to the OR room and stopped, “What are you— Oh. My. God.”

First Pidge was correct, there was a guy curled on the metal gurney, hooked up and linked to the heart monitor. No wild jungle cat though but on a positive note the guy was _fine_ , a solid twelve, had pearly skin and a tight ass.

Oh and uncut by the looks of that hood on his flaccid cock— Lance couldn’t pick a weirder time to notice these things but Lance’s brain tended to work ass backwards anyway. So he took careful notes of these things. But they did previously leave a two hundred pound jungle cat in here about twenty minutes so that took priority first.

 Lance tugged on the knob and checked the space behind it, then squinted at the back of the room where the shadows were denser and jet black. Nothing feline or lethal leapt out at him.

He reclined back and shouted into the desolate shelter, “Hunk?!”

Hunk shouted back, probably on the john. “Yea?”

Lance checked back, yup. Still a naked man. No kitty cat prowling on kitty paws. “Question, did you move that big ass cat while we weren’t looking?“

Light poured down the hallway when Hunk cocked the bathroom door wide with his foot, “What?”

“Did you move the cat?!”

“Oh my god, stop shouting,” Pidge cringed beside him.

“No!” Hunk answered. Then kind of mulled it over and realized, oh shit a jungle cat was on the loose and he was on the toilet. “Why? Should I be scared? Do we need to call the police?”

“Nah, it’s probably nothing.”

“There’s a fucking naked ass man in the OR,” Pidge hissed and pointed in case Lance overlooked that glaring detail.

“For some people that isn’t a problem,” he joked cause clearly, he was passed out in his nice, cute cabin in the woods and not here.

He checked out his tight butt again. Saw his balls cushioned under it.

Nice, daddy liked.

Pidge elbowed him in the stomach. “Lance.”

Fuck focus.

“Should we wake him up?” He gestured loosely to Mr. Handsome-Possibly-A- Cat-Guy.

“So he can eat us, I don’t fucking think so.”

He made a face, “Why would he eat us?”

“He can’t have witnesses. Oh shit, what if he’s a government asset or something, like Winter Solider, and he’s on the run and we’re all gonna be mind-wiped like _Men in Black_?”

“My concern is…does this mean the Loch Ness monster is real? Or Big Foot? Oh my god, or vampires. This is like _True Blood_. ”

Hunk popped up behind their talking backs, tip toped over and said, “There’s a naked guy.”

“Yup,” Lance nodded.

He wanted to add the adjectives: hot, bootylicious, things I want to ride; but that would ruin the somberness of the mood. It was all shit and giggles until one big jungle cat turned into a hung naked man.

Happened all the time, what a drag.

“Where’s the big cat?”

He scratched under his chin and thumbed at the naked dude. “Um, we think it might be that dude but we’re debating other stuff right now.”

“No seriously,” he insisted, waiting for someone to break out the punchline.

“Serious like a motherfucker.”

“He can’t stay here,” Pidge decided.

“Why not?”

“Do you think my boss is gonna be okay with a naked man in the kennel?”

“I think anyone would be more than okay to have him in a cage.” He read her furious scowl. “I’m kidding. Kidding. You get mad so quick.”

She puffed out her chest or what little there was. “Because this is my job, Lance.”

“Look, I’ll take Meow Mix back with me.”

Hunk asked, “What if he tries to hurt you or something?”

“That’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Pidge clapped Lance’s shoulder. “God speed.”

Lance frowned. “It’s like you don’t have any feelings at all, how do you work here again?”

“Because I love animals and despise humans. Also if you don’t die, give me updates. Better yet let me come by and check on him.”

“Find a mancat and everyone wants to be my best friend.”

“Kindly piss off and take the cat with you.” She shoved him inside the room.

“Alright. Can you give me a blanket? I feel pervy carrying him without one.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

Pidge gathered up some of the shelter’s most worn and thinnest blankets, wash machined, and helped him tucked the cat man into a comfy burrito. On one end black silky hair poked out and other had his slender feet, smeared black with drydirt.

“Sorry. The blankets are shitty but I can’t take the good ones. Some of the animals here really need them.”

Lance lifted the jungle cat and pressed him close to his chest, hoping his own supply of warmth would spread through and give some aid. “You probably saved his leg and my conscious. I got thick blankets at the cabin.”

“Alright. Keep him warm and the leg elevated. I don’t know what effect the drugs should have, considering they’re for animals and all but so far nothing has happened to worry me. But if that changes, call me or take him to the hospital.”

The guy against his chest burrowed deeper into the sheets that you couldn’t see his slanted eyes or his pretty lips. “This is fucking weird.”

“I know. I will need a lot of therapy and Jack Daniels to process this night.”

“Should I pay you or something?”

Pidge waved off the fee, “Nah just donate food or something to the shelter, I care more about the animals than the money. This is something we should just keep to ourselves anyway.”

“Shit, we’ll have to clean and sterile the room before the morning crew shows up,” Hunk said.

“Goodie, clean up.”

 

 

 

[x]

 

 

 

By the time he made it back home, the sun crested the horizon and the inky blue sky washed over to a delicate purple. He scooped out the guy, bumped his hips against the car door to close it, and treaded up the stairs and turned the knob. Apparently he left it unlocked. Good thing, he lived too far for a common thief to take advantage of his oversight.

He made his steps to the top floor stealthy as a ninja so the boards didn’t creak and set the guy into the second bedroom parallel to his. He flipped the knitted bedspread, placed him gently, flipped the sheets over and went to grab more. The sheets piled up so thickly that the ice age couldn’t bring a draft over this guy.

Lance closed the door and looked to his room. Fuck it, he wasn’t sleeping well this night anyway and made the bed before going back outside with a bucket and cloth.

Hopefully blood didn’t stain cause it drenched the backseat of his Jeep. He made do with what he had. Moped up the blood with a wet cloth, dumped it in the bucket and wrung out the excess. Had to dump out the water at one point, the water was so red and thick with blood that he felt a wave of nausea every time he looked at it.

It took an hour to clean the inside but it was better than sitting in the house and worrying if cat man might have a horrid reaction from the drugs.

He wouldn’t touch the whole there was probably a world of supernatural creatures that existed among him. Like wow, bombshell. He’d rather not have an existential crisis. That was why he left home to begin with.

 

 

[x]

 

 

When the clock hit noon Lance figured cat man had to be semi cognizant or at least booted up to the blue screen after you did a system restart on your laptop. Lance knocked and waited a few moments before he went in.

Cat man was up mentally.

 Physically, the blankets cocooned his body like a mummy.  He wiggled so his chin popped out and blinked past a night of drugs and blood lost and the light spilling between the thick leaves on the oak tree outside told Lance that cat man had killer cheekbones, small lips, and eyes with fragments of sapphires and amethyst.

That or he was feeling the strain of sleep deprivation.

Cat man’s hair haloed on the pillow and made him look like the sex god you wished and prayed with all your heart that would appear in your bed one morning and deflower your slutty ass…

Okay, he was sleep deprived but that didn’t negate cat man’s personal blend of animalistic and human beauty.

 Degrees of the savage jungle cat made their appearance even in his human form. It was difficult to pin the double layers of man and beast into regular words but cat man still looked like a fearsome predator under all those soft blankets.

Still appeared to have that fucking chip on his shoulder too.

Let Lance know he could wreck his shit.

He pulled himself upright and rested his back on the wooden headboard.

Lance saw pink nipples and blanked out.

Wow, was it creepy to check out a guy who turned into a kitty cat?

Did that mean he was transitioning into a furry? Please help him.

Lance scraped his dull nails over his woodman’s scruff. “So that cat thingy, legit or were those mushroom growing on the side of the cabin actual shrooms?”

“Legit.” Dark violet sapphires sighted, unflinching, on his face and his voice was the nearest thing to a guttural roar. That voice could drop all the panties, have volcanoes erupt molten lava, and maneuver tectonic plates. “I’m a werejaguar.”

Oh so they were a group, helpful.

See that was not a wicked trip, last night was legit.

Great.

_Don’t panic, don’t panic_.

_It’s cool, he’s like a fucking X-men and shit. You love Marvel. Lance, keep it tight._

“Oh. Okay. Cool. So that’s a thing? That happens?” 

“Yes.” Cat man clarified.

Cat man squinted, “Are you going to freak out?”

Lance made himself relax and cool by the door, crossed his legs like a beach body who watched the surf all day long. “Nah, I totally did that while you were sleeping. I’m in that zone where I literally can’t feel my face, it’s great. I can deal with this.”

Partially true. It was a lot of new information to take in at one sitting but the panic dialed back to minimal waves. In place of it, questions popped up.

Was he like a werewolf but cat?

Did he understand other cats?

Was catnip effective on him?

Had he ever tried cat food? If so, was there a brand that was the least disgusting?

_Don’t ask any of those._

Cat man played with the thread count and pinched frayed strings between his fingers. “Uh…. Thanks for helping. Sorry about the whole trying to claw you thing. I was having a bad day.”

“Water under the bridge.” Lance dismissed it.

“This is fucking weird. You’re not going mental. People usually go mental,” Cat man said in disbelief, checked Lance head to toe like he was the fucking weirdo who transformed into a jungle cat.

Lance shrugged like _no biggie, I’m friends with Big Foot on Facebook so this is fine_. “It’s probably cause I’m sleep deprived and had three beers.”

“Oh.”

He asked as he chanced cautious steps to the bed. “So is there someone I can call for you? You wanna go to the hospital or anything?”

He didn’t get hissed at so he thought it was as much as an approval he would receive from cat man. Lance perched at the bottom corner.

“No. There isn’t anyone. And I’m fine, this is no big deal.” Then he shrugged.

He reined in his incredulous tone. “Dunno a bullet in your leg is kinda a big thing.”

“It was a stray bullet. Usually I’m faster than that— Nevermind. Listen I’ll get out of here. I don’t have a lot of money so I can’t really pay you. I’m sorry. Just keep this to yourself.” Cat man peeled back the covers and wiggled his naked ass to the edge and tested his leg by applying small pressure of weight to it. He winced, long canines finding the bottom of his lip.

“I can drive you,” He folded one leg on the bed and watched cat man’s back.

“My place isn’t in the city.”

“Then where is it? I’m not going to make you walk.”

“It’s a cave up the mountains.”

“Stay here,” he offered.

He rounded on Lance. “What?”

“Stay here,” he repeated.  “You can fucking heal and shit. I won’t like bug you for anything.”

“I don’t have any money.”

Lance scrunched his face and hitched his shoulders up. “Fucking so, do I look like the monopoly man to you?”

“You don’t care that I turn into a cat.”

Lance waved an opened palm in the air. “No lie, that’s the tightest shit I’ve ever seen. You’re basically a superhero, dude.”

Whole minutes passed in hushed deliberation. Understandable, they were strangers and so far cat man preferred to be on his own and kindness might not be a common currency to a person like him given his choice words. Most people liked to commit their one act of altruism, pack up the person, and call it a day.

Lance suggested. “How about this —you stay until you heal up and if you want to go back to your cave, then you can. You want to go back to the city, then you can. You want to stay here, then you can.”

“I feel weird putting you out like this.”

He clapped his back kindly and said, “Just shut up and stay, man. I need a guard dog anyway and what better than a damn jaguar.”

Lance hopped off the bed, unwilling to debate this further.

Dark eyes tracked his movement. “Dude you’re…”

“I’m Lance,” he said, nudging the door with his foot.

“Keith.”

“Do you want clothes or something?” He pursed his lips, one shy finger pointing out the elephant in the room.

Keith snatched a pillow and set it over his lap, “Uh, yea. Thanks—if you don’t mind.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

Yea so that was how Lance got a cat and lived with another dude who he was mad crushing on since he first morphed from a lethal black jaguar to a stunning human back at the animal shelter. He thought the fact that Keith could use a litter box and get high off cat nip would kill any and all boners but it didn’t.

Actually, it was hot and stupidly endearing.

No, he wasn’t a furry. Please don’t assume.

Cats were cute.

Keith was cute as a black, wild jungle cat and insanely sculpted and lean as a guy. His eyes rounded out to golden balls of sun light, his spine shortened and grew a recurve bow to it, a tail lengthened from the base of his ass to a round cat tail. The process in reverse was just as magical and breathtaking, that cat form extended, shifted to two feet as a glittery shimmer washed down his body and presto, you had your man.

The first two weeks was an adjustment period. Lance adapted to the black cat slinking soundlessly through the cabin, up the stairs, down the hall, in the kitchen, into the living room.

He learned not to get spook when Keith woke up at dusk, nocturnal fucker, and started a tiny commotion in the place. Granted he was less noisy than most house cats who did not give a fuck and ran wild in the middle of the night and knocked shit over from the table and drummed their padded feet over the floor. Keith strolled around in the dark, night vision was the dream to have, until he tired or his mind did.

Lance stepped on him one time— one time and he felt immediately awful for the act and pleaded for Keith’s forgiveness.

Keith learned to loosen his tense shoulders. Figured out that he didn’t have to watch his back or sleep with one eye open. Saw that Lance wasn’t those people that instilled his fears. He engaged Lance without him initiating the conversation. Keith would hop on the sofa and curl up on the other side with Lance on it.

Lance trained Keith how to move on crutches, he had stored his after the accident, but Keith preferred using three legs rather than to get around so his clothes were strewn all over. Which Lance cleaned up at first but now yelled at the retreating jaguar to pick up his shit.

Keith rumbled, the sound like an outdated engine, until Lance shamed him with a finger and a tapping foot. “I will get the spray bottle, Thundercat.”

Keith whined and carried the clothes upstairs in his jaw and bitched the whole way loudly. “Rawr, rawr, buddy. You keep bitching all you want.”

It was totally gross how domesticated they got, like they were once two separate rivers that merged into one and it worked really well. It didn’t make any sense actually. Maybe it was whatever magic that transformed Keith was doing some magic wonders on him.

Go figure, all Lance needed was a cat.

 

 

[x]

 

 

Lance had his big pretty cat and Zen— a real photocopied image of that back to roots couple with sunlight haloing their heads, song birds tweeting, the wind whistling, and the leave on the branches rustling— going when someone rapped on the door first, then moved on to tap on the windows next.

There was a short list of people who had this location and would bother to drive up and annoy Lance, Allura or Pidge.

Money was on the spitfire redhead.

He heard Pidge’s  voice through the glass, “Are you dead? Did the cat eat you?”

In his state of slumber, Keith’s ear subconsciously flicked to the new noise.

Seriously, he just sat down and toed a knitted throw over his kneecaps, the other half of it draped across Keith’s furred belly. Paws dangled skyward as though someone hit the pause button on this guy and calm breath moved his oval shaped ribcage.

Cats had the right mindset for life. Sleep the day away and ignore everything else, Lance could get behind that.

But that rapping on the damn door…

Lance jerked it open and appropriately looked like something the cat dragged in with black fur on his grey joggers and blue t-shirt and cat grumpy eyes.

Pidge reported to Hunk, who peacefully made use of the rocking chair. “False alarm, Lance’s alive. What a bummer.”

Hunk kicked his feet, rocking, and saluted Lance.

Lance blew him air kisses, Hunk pretended to catch one and pocket it for later.

“I should send my cat after you.”

“Yea, okay,” the vet snorted in her green scrubs, hair scooped in a messy bun. Soft winds freed loose tendrils and they danced over her nose.

“You don’t believe me?” He cocked a brow. “Keith was drugged up at the shelter. He won’t remember you so if I scream for him to attack he will eat your little ass.”

“No he won’t.”

Lance braced himself, sucked in a gallon of oxygen and opened his mouth. “KEI—“

“Don’t fucking call him!”

Hunk scampered off his porched and slammed the car door behind him. He rolled down the window an inch and said through the gap, “I’m staying inside.”

“Hunk get over here. Keith would only eat Pidge. You know you own my heart and soul.”

“Yes and if I was gay I would marry you, Lance, but I don’t play.”

“Keith literally sleeps all day. He’s just another lazy cat but one that could kill you for real. Not like those cat memes.”

“Not fucking helping.”

 

 

[x]

 

Keith passed with a clean bill of health. The wound had no sigh of infection. Pidge used disposable stitches at the time since she was under the impression Keith was jaguar and not a shape shifter. So there was no need for her to take them out. The bruising lessened at the sight. Some of the area was still sore and tender but as far as permanent tissues damage went, he had nothing that time and patience couldn’t heal.

At the end of the month, Keith was walking.

A week after that, he lost his limp.

Another two weeks and the guy ran and leapt wherever he damn well pleased and that spot was the sofa, the acres of land under his tio’s name, and the trees. Poor things had deep gouges in their trunks from Keith’s scratching but better them than the furniture.

He made a joke about that.

Keith flipped him off and promised to claw his face off as he slept.

“I should have got a dog.”

Keith rolled his eyes and kicked his shin with a fraction of strength that he most assuredly possessed. “I’m going to lay on all your shirts.”

“Dude there’s already cat hair on my clothes, anymore and I could make a coat.”

“Everyone sheds.”

“Yea but you’re an industrial size shedder.”

 

 

[x]

 

Lance blanked on the _you can leave when you heal_ deal and apparently so did Keith cause he stayed night after night.

Shit, if he wasn’t bringing it up then neither would he.

He liked his cat man right where he was, head propped on his lap and tucked into a kitty ball.

 

 

[x]

 

Rad thing about an abode in the woods sleep came easy.

Awful thing about an abode in the woods sleep came easy

Sleep occasionally promised fire, smoke, and Lance’s homemade video of death. Close to a porno made at the house. Bad lighting, the ones in your place that made every fleshy part of your body look flabby and was that cellulite. My ass wasn’t normally _that_ large.

 No soundtrack or decent audio. The sheets rustled, a slick sound popped, the bed frame complained, kids knocked on the door with concerns about ghosts moaning. Horrid cuts. Pathetic edits. You added filters so it looked semi professorial.

Lance’s video had HD quality, no buffering, you could stream it off your curved plasma TV for the whole family. The color in the fire sizzled— but instead of food, it was everything else— red, orange, yellow, blue. An vibrant color palette so pretty and enchanting you wanted to drag your fingertips through the colors and see if your fingers came away with it.

 Touched these colors and you burned, friend.

Sound quality was top notch. Could hear the fire pop and snap as it chased cotton fabric, the household appliance. Had an all-out buffet on the house.

So his night started with brilliant HD colors, the crackle and sizzle of fire—

 Mind full of flashes of him falling and falling into the darkness, the pain of his bones snapping like twigs, the removal of oxygen in his lungs and in the dark space, the thick smoke choking every ounce of life out of him, the scalding heat growing hotter and hotter.

Voices mumbled.

The team on the other side shouting as they tried to douse the flame and get to him before he suffocated.

But this time, they didn’t reach him. Their voice faded and he waited in the dark to die alone, to choke, to burn, to turn into ashes that no one would be able to pick apart from the house and him.

His body jerked and expected to pursue the same routine— hit the deck and try to remember he wasn’t fucking dying.

What he got was a body draped over his chest and a unpleasant tongue licking his face. Keith made a calming sound, something trying to be a purr but failing. A tip for you, certain big cats didn’t have the right equipment to purr like your lazy domestic so they made due with other sounds.

“K-Keith?”

Keith bumped his head and threw his heavy paws on his shoulders and burrowed his head under his chin.

Lance walked his fingers into Keith’s soft fur, found purchase and gripped hard, and cried for the first time. Body trembling like it was stacked on top of a house of cards.

Awful, just awful— his nose was runny, throat coughed up sounds like a corpse being reanimated. The sting behind his eyes was unforgivable and he did all this while clinging to a jaguar.

The last time he cried this hard was when a girl in high school kicked him in the nuts.

This was worse than bones to his soft spots. All of this was vulnerability, the clear reflection of his inner turmoil, bare parts of his brain Lance didn’t wish exist. It was a lot of things he never was before. 

It couldn’t be comfortable for Keith to be on top and have miniature earthquake disturb any sleep he was getting. He wasn’t taking off though.

 

 

[x]

 

 

The next morning Keith didn’t bring it up. Nope, he walked on silent feet into the kitchen, hair awfully unkempt that it seemed fashionable and joggers loose at the hip bones. And at first, Lance was willing to let it be that but he felt bad for the position Keith felt obligated to aid in. Plus it had to be creepy Lance all wet with tears and clutching Keith for dear life. They’re mid-twenties, nothing could be more depressing than a grown ass man who rattled just as bad as a toddler when his toy was confiscated.

Lance placed a warm cup of coffee in front of Keith, embarrassed to make direct eye contact.

Keith grabbed it with a half-smile, something near grateful and concern. He knew shit wasn’t A-okay in Lance’s noggin but he wouldn’t press the issue.

Fucking considerate cat man.

Lance loathed unanswered question marks and he preferred Keith had concrete, unbiased answers. Better than him speculating in the dark.

“Okay. Look I will just put it out there and everything. Last night kinda happens to me a lot.”

Keith’s mouth rounded into a ‘o’, probably surprised Lance was bulldozing into his unvoiced inquires like the cruel scars down his calf where the bone snapped and ripped through the skin or the superficial burns he’d acquired over the years as a firefighter.

Lance continued but his body moved from one side to the kitchen to the other, grabbed a cup, set it down again. Repeat. Repeat, like a shit ton of atoms trapped in a space and testing the durability of it. He got bad nerves.

He scratched his chin, desperate to be not so desperate in front of Keith. “Basically I had a fire that sorta tried to kill me. The house collapsed and I fell, broke my leg, fucked up my back and some other shit. I did the physical therapy. I get pain sometimes where I hit my back and the burn marks are from stupid shit I did as a newbie.”

Yea, like no biggie dude.

Fuck, he hoped Keith didn’t think Lance was a special type of idiot.

“So it’s the mental shit getting you.”

He shrugged, “Yea, more or less. I know its stupid for a firefighter to be afraid of fire but if I see a house on fire my body tells me to go, go, go but my brain screams stay.”

“It’s not stupid. That’s fucking brave.”

Lance looked at him for the first time in what felt like _eons_. Had a stupid gapping expression to go with it. “What?”

“You save people. You risk your ass. Don’t give yourself shit just cause you get freaked out.”

Lance rubbed his nose,” Uh. Thanks for not…I dunno, giving me shit about it.”

“That’s a douchey thing to do to anyone. Also if you have another… you know—I’ll help. Again.” Oh guessed who had the case of _I can’t look in your eyes either cause I’m bad at emotions like you_.

“What? No way, that’s asking too much. You don’t—“

Keith snipped, pink in the face. “I fucking offered, right? So I want to. Shut up and take my help. You helped me. What’s wrong with me helping you?”

“Oh.” Lance paused. Felt like crying, maybe, but didn’t.

Stupid cat.

Stupid, sensitive cat.

“Well, thank you? But could you be a dick to me again cause I feel very weird, not in a bad way but a nice way. Please call me something rude so shit turns normal again.”

“Okay,” Keith laughed, the sound like brittle pines in the winter frost. “Your jokes fucking suck ass.”

He jabbed a finger, “Hey buddy, that’s a little too far.”

Keith smirked over the rim of his cup, “Truth hurts.”

“Yea well at least I don’t lick my own balls.”

“You swore you would never speak of that again.”

“Truth hurts,” he mocked, then promptly scurried away when a two hundred pound jaguar sat in Keith’s place. “Bad kitty, bad kitty!”

The jaguar roared, hot on his heels.

 

 

 

[x]

 

 

A red dot made slow tracks in front of Keith, disappeared when Lance’s finger slipped off the button, then reappear and went the same path but in reverse. Lance tried not to laugh. He pointed the dot on top of Keith’s paw.

Lance giggled.

Keith would not give in.

The red dot zipped to one side of the room to the other, decreased speed when it arrived by Keith so it incited him to give chase, and whipped to wall and slinked up it like Spiderman.

The jaguar pounced and jumped on his hind legs to whack the dot when it touched the trim of the ceiling.

Lance laughed so hard that he flopped off the sofa and planted his face to the floor. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Keith rumbled and sat on his back to shut him up. “Dying,” he coughed and Keith dropped the rest of his weight.

“Haha, you’re such a fucking cat. Oh my god!”

The jaguar  scratched his sand paper tongue down his face.

 

 

[x]

 

 

The lake was a solid horizontal line of indigo from where it expanded at Lance’s feet. Sunlight played on the delicate ripples as water rushed over rocks and dirt. The whole thing glittered and sparkled, a tiny paradise. Bodies of fish zipped up and down from the surface, sometimes absorbing the light in their shiny scales. Running water colored the empty spaces that airplanes, cars, and people left.

He could hear the exact moment a bug landed and floated on the water. The second a fish zeroed in on it and rushed the surface and gulped the bug whole.

He also heard every impatient sigh coming from his cat man, sitting crossed leg next to him. The cat man wore one of Lance’s old ratty band shirt, the one so thin and used the fabric was semitransparent in bright lights. Kind of like the one going right now,

Keith’s eyes tracked the dull bob of his lure on the water.

He pulled on grass, unearthed the blade.

Another silver bodied passed, uninterested, around the lure and happily swam in circles.

Keith breathed, bored.

Lance whipped his head, “What?”

“It’s taking long.”

He looked at him dull and long. “Dude, have you ever fished?”

“Yea and it doesn’t take me this long.”

“Are you saying I suck?”

“Technically no but you’re not great either.”

“Is that a duel, I hear?”

“You can’t out fish me.”

“I’m sorry but I think you just challenged me to a duel, have you seen Yu-gi-oh? That’s duel talk.”

“You wanna go?” Keith asked, serious like _Lance think about it first_.

Lance said, not thinking about it. “Fuck yea, I do.”

“Alright,” Keith rolled to his feet and popped his head side to side to rattle the joints and started on the fly of his jeans.

A cold sensation shivered down Lance’s spine as he watched. Oh no.

Keith toed off the boots next.

No.

Jeans pooled at his ankle and then the shirt.

Fuck.

Deep violets flicked upward, a fraction of a second passed and Lance felt a thousand years worth of _I’m so fucked_ right before Keith shifted. Violet vacuumed inward as amber seeped in from the outer circle. The bones in his face melded and rearranged itself. White skin gave away to jet black fur.

The jaguar approached the bank on the river, tail low to the ground and twitchy, he walked the line down one direction and prowled the other. Keith lined his body, sunk to his haunches and wiggled his butt.

Lance followed the jaguar’s line of sight. A school of fish loitered, defenseless.

“You can’t,” he whispered. “That’s not freaking fair. You’re going to scare—“

The cat soared, paws out in either direction, body cutting through water like a knife.

Lance rushed to the water, wet jeans be damned he would use his own two hands if it meant victory.

He snatched out a confused fish but it squirmed slippery in his grasp. It flew before he caught it once more. And then he lost his grip.

Good thing for Keith, he had nice sharp teeth to grab it and hold it as he took to the air.

“That’s my fish,” he ran after the jaguar. “Gimme my fish, cheater.”

Of course of all the big cats out there, Lance landed himself the one with a liking to water. Why couldn’t Keith be like normal cats and loathe it?

Throughout it all his long legs kicked up small swells, scared the shit out of the little Nemos’ chilling in the water, got water and round pebbles in his shoes, his jeans had the mass of a bowling ball, Keith drenched in head to toe in water. The silence of the tall woods was stuffed with Lance’s laughter and the trot of the jaguar through the river. Every woodland creature steered clear of them. The sun banked low to the horizon and they caught two fish with their stupid water games.

When he cooked dinner that night, Keith’s share of food was slightly more charred than his. Not that he was a sore loser but he got distracted while he cooked.

 

 

[x]

 

 

They’re out on the porch, two cold beers in hand, and a short amount of space between them when Lance leaned over and kissed Keith.

Wham, bam, thank you ma’am.

No finesse, no sappy love confession though if you asked Lance why he did it he’d give you the list.

Wait, you wanted to hear the list?

Okay—

  * Keith was hot.
  * He went out of his way to help Lance through his nightmares.
  * If a strange noise echoed at night, his protective jaguar shuffled out from under the cover, took an offensive stance over his taxed out body and snarled warnings to the door. By that time, Lance woke up and persuaded Keith back to sleep.
  * Lance got mad boners just looking at Keith’s rigid jawline, his model like profile, and that thick luscious black hair.
  * He fished like a boss (this list was too long).
  * Most importantly, there was no lost soul quest on Keith’s agenda. Keith wanted to help Lance in his own way and not duct tape the shattered pieces of his mind. Didn’t preach how he should man up or get over shit. Never tried to sell him on some psych babble like _you should be open, you should see someone_ .



There. You had the list.

Now Lance could go back to shitting himself and praying that one, Keith was gay and two, the feeling was mutual. Lance was the guy that did his talking in actions.

Keith froze.

Fuck.

Like why would you do that, Lance?

Are you a creep?

Do you have no sense of respect?

Fucking ask people first, dude!

Damage control started now.

Lance went back to drinking his beer, convinced he fucked up and totally destroyed this relationship. He got the beer down before Keith fisted his shirt and slammed his mouth on his and _snarled_ into the kiss, all animalistic too like a big cat once locked up set into a free environment with no fences, no people, and no limits.

He let him go, mouth red as hell, and drank without a word but his cheeks were far too pink not to be a incriminating sign that big cat had nerves too.

Lance licked his lips and looked down at his shoes as he stubbed them into the dirt. “So…” he croaked, voice a weak thing now. “Does this make me a furry?”

Keith snorted out his beer, standing up and then over to cough. “I was trying to be fucking smooth and you messed it up.”

“I’m sorry. I just really want to know if I should make a cat suit for myself.”

“Can’t believe I like a gu literally makes cat jokes every day.”

“And I _cat_ believe—“

Keith groaned, “You prick.”

“We’re boyfriends now, you have to let me finish my sentences or you’re breaking the gay rule.”

“That sounds like you made that up.”

“No, it’s legit,” Lance swore.

Keith sat back down, the space nonexistent now. Lance felt bulging biceps and hair tickling at the exposed skin around the loose collar of his shirt like cat whiskers. “Yea, legit bullshit.”

“Well now I forgot what I was going to say. You suck.”

“Good it’s easier to kiss you when you’re not talking,” Keith purred. Not a meow meow purr but a _I’ll work you hard and sweet, lover, just get on my cock_ purr.

What a naughty kitty.

Lance blushed and bit his lip in excitement. “I feel like I should be offended by that but lay one on me, handsome.”  He puckered his lips, already hooked on Keith’s special kisses.

More please, thank you.

Should’ve braced his entire body instead cause his back rammed to the floor and Keith crawled up his body like an animal, kissed him like a human, and touched him like something supernatural.

Dude, the fucking perks.

 

 

[x]

 

Lance had started to take to sleeping on the sofa like a lazy human being and Keith had taken to using said human as his personal bed and laid on him. Big cat were just kitties with bigger claws and wider jaws.

He was in that nice in between from napping to passing out when the cat body on top molded back to human and peeked out of the covers.

Lance blinked, “Something’s amiss, weren’t you a giant kitty before sir?”

Keith pressed forward and Lance’s legs just kind of spread on their own and something hot and wicked dropped to his dick. “And now I’m hard as fuck so open your legs, Lance.”

“Oh my god. You’re trying to turn me into a—“ Keith hitched up his shirt, saw a nipple and sucked until it hardened in his mouth.  Lance gasped, hand fisting into Keith’s hair, and watched.

Red lips popped off his nipple and that voice currently speaking to him was total jaguar. “Listen, baby, be sweet for me and you get _this_ in you.”

And Lance thought he felt something like, _hard_ and _fat_ making half assed grinds on his crotch and apparently that was Keith’s nice, uncut cock.

Fucking— just bless everyone on this earth.

God Bless.

USA, USA, USA.

Oh Canada.

Viva la Mexico.

Lance wanted to be face down and ass like a million seconds ago but Keith seemed happy on doing these dirty humps where he was trying to fuck Lance with his clothes on and whimpering nice and sweet.  He would intervene but it was really nice and neat under him as he chased down pleasure for himself, to see this tough guy be a weak slut in front of him.

Pretty ass cat, man.

“Oh fuck,” Lance groaned.

“Want it, right?” Keith husked, voice an animal and body a temple of what made a man a _man_ — hard places, wet places, big here, thick there, strong in his arms, perfect at his cock.

He babbled. “Fuck yea. Fuck me hard, man. Real hard.”

“Then take your clothes off.”

“Gotta give me some room, baby.”

“Or I can use my teeth,” Keith flashed him canines, traced them, and lowered the sharp point into his bottom lip.

That sounded hot.

But his clothes.

“I like this shirt,” Lance unrolled the shirt and pouted at the cool retro print of a Stormtrooper surfing a wave.

“Then you better work fast. You have till the count of three…one.”

“You’re kidding.”

Keith lifted a second finger, “Two.” Claws extended from the beds of his nails.

“Wait, wait, wait,” He struggled with the shirt, body torn between laughing and needing serious dick right now. The collar pulled on the front of his nose and refused to go over his head.

Momentarily trapped and exposed, Keith took Lance’s minor crisis as an opportunity to touch the defined lines of his torso, the bumps of abdominals under honey brown skin, the trail of black hair at his bellybutton, the scars from fist fights and fire fights, the upper ripples of his ribcage where the lamp’s shadow sprayed dark tiger stripes, the slight swell of his pectoral to the valley between them, the pointy tips of his nipples stiff from arousal and the new flash of cold.

Keith dipped, sensual and elegant, and dragged the flat of his tongue over brown nipples.

Lance shivered and stopped all squirming in his makeshift bonds and arched instead. His lips parted on a raspy moan. “Keith. Fuck…”

“You’re fucking pretty. Anyone tell you that, Lance? About how damn pretty you are. Look at you. So fucking gorgeous.”

Lance couldn’t see Keith’s eyes not with the whole shirt over his shirt business but he felt his stare, the burn of it, that heat. Imagined Keith had some fucking gorgeous look going on his face as he admired him.

“Dude…Me? Like you’re the hot one. Shut up.”

“Nah, man. You got it wrong. You’re god damn perfect, funny, brave. Fucking asshole. You can’t be this pretty and this good,” Keith said, Mr. I’m- the-reason-your-mama-told-you-not-to-fuck-with-bad boys. As though he didn’t have a mirror to look into every morning and see the living embodiment of beauty and perfect in the reflection.

Mr. Handsome was calling Lance here _gorgeous_. Said he was these magnificent things— perfect. Ain’t no person ever taken to calling him that.

 Well game like that had an effect on weak guys. Made him harder and hotter. Pushed a desire to be opened and used like a fucking slut into his core. Had his back arching and ass looking for some dick. Made him feel nice and pretty with his broken pieces and burnt parts.

Pretty Lance, he liked that.

Felt pretty like this.

Perfect Lance, what a nice ring.

Felt perfect when Keith took to sucking his neck like his skin had the sweet taste of candy.

Really dug the whole praise thing too, so much so he turned into putty and let Keith roll his nipples, tug on the bud, wrap his lips around the points without a single wiseass crack. He just moaned, _Keith, Keith, Keith_ like it was his salvation.

Keith must’ve enjoyed the worship cause he did not shut up. He rose monuments in Lance’s greatness. Built skyscrapers in his name. Caressed every inch of him that Lance had no idea where the sky was, how to turn left, or which way was North. He earned a shimmery sheen of sweat over his body. His cock was out and throbbing mad after Keith got impatient and pulled him out.

He pumped occasionally, being cruel and fast then so slow and sweet.

Lance worked the shirt more so he could see a little better.

Lance watched the head of his cock appear then disappear in Keith’s hand. Saw how red he was. Saw a slick gloss of pre-cum wetting the tip. Felt how bad he wanted it. Heard his body plead _touch me, touch me, suck me, suck me_. “Keith, please man.”

His pretty jaguar laughed, low and raspy and a devil. “What, need help?”

Lance nodded, the action mildly hindered with half his head in the shirt. “You’re having all the fun. C’mon that ain’t cool.”

“Are you seriously stuck? I thought you just got lazy.”

“No. I’m stuck, dude,” he grumbled and demonstrated by fruitlessly pulling with no results.

Keith laughed, “Wow, you suck.”

“Help me!” He pleaded, helpless. “And don’t rip my clothes up, please.”

A little wiggle and a tag in from his boyfriend and Lance won his freedom, he chucked the shirt and started on his pants which again he tagged in Keith cause it was very difficult to do so with limited space and a hard on screaming to be licked.

Lance groaned in bliss, dropping his pants next, and stretched out his body. “Holy shit, I’m getting old.”

Keith smiled, soft and gooey and wonderful. How the hell this guy managed to make gooey attractive was beyond him, maybe it was a cat thing. “Dumbass.”

“Hello, I believe you said I was perfect and there’s no backies on that shit. So I’m perfect. Fuck you.”

A cat elegance guided Keith smooth over Lance and brought his mouth over Lance’s, “You are.”

“My boner is very confused. You’re being really sweet and my dick doesn’t  know if we should cuddle or fuck hard.”

Keith’s mouth ghosted teasingly and pressed mock kisses, never quite surrendering fully to Lance. “My boner wants to fuck you, then cuddle you after.”

Lance arched, moving his mouth so Keith had no choice but to give it to him. “I like how your boner thinks.”

“I think you’ll like it better inside your ass,” his voice was basically fucking smoke at this time, then good kind of smoke. Not the choking kind but the type filled you.

Lance sucked in air, it rushed in harsh and cold, and Keith needed to stop with these lines or his cock would explode. He talked like he made porn flicks on the regular, Christ. “You wanna fuck me, then you gonna play with me a little, handsome. I’m not free, y’know.”

Keith’s hands got real creative, real wild on his body. Scratched needle sharp nails everywhere that Lance had these faint red lines down his chest, red lines edged pretty and sensitive on his hipbones so teasingly close to his dick, and then on his inner thighs where the lines trembled on his dark skin.

Looked like he got into a bad fight with a mean ass cat actually which was beyond funny cause Lance quivered the entire time, moaned so loud and slutty he was grateful for the twenty mile radius between him and the next cabin in the woods. Came close to crying too when Keith scraped nail on the shaft, went up, and traced light and so good on the tip.

And it was all very nice and everything but Lance needed hands on a thick part of Keith right the fuck now.

He grabbed his hips and nudged him up so Keith’s knees straddled his chest.

Keith groaned, looking down and seeing the gone expression in Lance’s eyes. “Fuck.”

“Yea, baby. Gonna suck your cock for a bit, that okay?”

Keith carded fingers through his hair, “Shit that’s more than okay. Fucking suck it all you want, Lance. Want you on my cock so bad.”

His hips rocked up at that. Stupid, mindlessly, and horny.  It didn’t bring any sort of relief but it made him feel like a giant slut.

You could hardly blame him cause the view he had— _god damn, god damn_.  Thick thighs, pretty as white clouds and solid as marble. Cock fat and red, hooded at the tip, delicious throbbing vein spearing upwards and he literally drooled at the thought of it inside his mouth.

Lance grabbed his ass and basically decided that was all the leverage he’d need and started to work that cock with him mouth and tongue like the shameless person he was. Which didn’t go over too well cause Keith’s cock kept popping out of his mouth and he had to chase for the head like he was bobbing for apples and it was so messy and pre-cum got all over his face.

But Keith was shivering above him so god damn hard, so horny, so hot and bothered by Lance’s lazy blowjob skills and the hand groping rough on his ass.

He helped a little. Grabbed his dick and feed it to Lance. “Doing so good, Lance. Fucking so good at sucking dick. So good like this.”

Lance moaned on his cock and sucked harder, tongue worming under the hood of his foreskin and swirling.

He pulled back to breath for a few seconds and went back to licking at Keith’s dick like a dog would. You could hear the wetness of his tongue dragging on the shaft. Could see drops of pre-cum and spit splatter on his chest. Saw tracks run over divots and mountains of hard muscles.

Keith fisted his hair and reared his head back so all Lance could do was mouth the head. Long lashes framed the dark violets in his eyes. “Yea, do that, baby. Feels fucking good. Lick the head for me. _Fuck_.”

The grip in his hair hurt enough to feel damn good. Looked up to see Keith use his mouth like a toy. Watched his cat man make him work for that dick. Praised his mouth to kingdom come, whined out hot _yes, please, like that_ and it made his dick throb, hips rock out, mouth sloppy and uncoordinated.

Awesome but this pain in his neck started to ache like a bitch. Lance pinched his outer thigh.

Keith got wise and loosened his hands, he thumbed the redness ringed around Lance’s mouth. “Was I hurting you?”

“Nah, kitty. My neck is starting to cramp.”

Keith played on a Cheshire smirk. “Too much cock for you?”

“I can seriously bite your dick right now, dude.”  Lance smiled and showed his dull, boring human teeth and pretended to go through with the threat, opening his mouth around the head and bringing his teeth down tenderly.

His pretty cat shuddered. “Thought you said your neck hurt.”

“Yea. It does. Also I would very much like your fingers in my ass now. Please?”

“O—oh! Yea. Uh, lemme get the stuff.” He hopped off the sofa, dick smacking his thighs. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

Lance rolled on his stomach, mindful of his raging hard on, and grinned as he ogled Keith’s tight ass running to the bedroom upstairs.

Uh, fucking blessed.

He laughed when he heard Keith’s hectic footfalls on the floor above him.

“I’m losing wood!” He shouted to the ceiling

“Don’t!” Keith called as he slammed drawers and started a ruckus for lube and condoms.

“They’re by the nightstand, dude.”

Lance listened to him move to the other side of the room.

A second later, Keith said. “Oh. Found it.”

He dropped his face into his forearm and giggled.

Keith made it back in record time.

Lance clapped at his victorious return, proud. “Aw, someone excited to fuck.”

“You should get excited. I’m going to destroy your ass, Lance.”

Keith leapt on the sofa, body making no noise, and pressed said excitement against Lance’s ass. The grin on his face rapidly crumbled away to a dirty moan.

Hot lips kissed his ear, a gruff voice asking, “Excited now?”

 Lance pushed back to get a nice feel of wet cock, an hot electric pulse thrumming down his spine because he was so close to where he ached for him. So close to fucking him. Liked the feeling of it close and hot on his ass. Enjoyed when Keith’s dick twitched, hot and thick.

He tipped his head back and felt a hot breath rush over his flushed cheeks and stared to where Keith grind against him dirty and messy, not giving a single fuck that it made him look needy.  “Yea. Gonna fuck me with that fat cock, baby?”

Keith nipped his lips, sharp kitty teeth coming out again. Blood welled as he sucked on his lower lip. “Damn right.”

Then he propped himself up with one arm, reaching down to grab the lube, and went back to humping Lance from behind. His forearms braced on the armrest alongside Lance so he got to see him pop the tub open and lather his fingers.

Lance groaned when he snapped the lid. “Want me to play with you, baby, or you do need me now?”

“Need you now, Keith. Fucking need my kitty in me.”

“I got you,” Keith mouthed his cheek, applying kisses wherever he could. He trailed the slicked fingers between their bodies and found Lance’s plump ass and fucked his hole fast.

“Oh shit,” Lance bucked back, moaning. He tried to shift his knees under him so he had leverage to fuck back but Keith’s pressed weight prevented that.

“Wait, baby,” Keith placated. “You’ll get it good soon.”

“Fuck, then hurry.”

Keith popped his finger out and smacked his ass, sinking long nails deep enough for superficial marks to pink up his ass cheek but otherwise harmless.

Lance made an _awful, awful_   sound at that. “Oh baby.”

“Jesus, I can’t even spank you without you liking it. You’re horrible.” He spanked him again and groped his ass roughly, loving the fullness in his hand.

Lance laughed. “Yea. I’m so bad.”

“You are. Bad Lance. I’m trying to do something. Stop distracting me.”  Big, mean teeth nipped his shoulder.

Keith slicked on more lube and worked two fingers in. Wasted little time and focused on making Lance’s hole wide and wet as hell. Scissored his fingers at the rim and slammed them hard inside, feeling Lance clenched down greedy. Lance didn’t know the meaning of restraint and went wild, drooled on the armrest, made all sorts of sounds that came off a porn studio, moved his body so eager and slutty like bills had to be paid tomorrow morning, and kept trying to spread himself as much as possible.

 Lance had zero shame and ten thousand dick starved sluts in his body.

Plus it had his pretty cat snarling and growling sounds caught between human and animal and that really turned him on. Especially when Keith placed the sound down the back of his neck so it was a double whammy, hearing and sensation.  Heavy and gruff in his eardrums and a force of vibrations through solids. Damn, he got major goosebumps pebbling his skin.

Big cat enthusiasts could only dream about getting this close and personal with a jaguar and look at Lance, he didn’t have to fly to another country and pray for his mortal soul when he saddled in Keith’s space.

They probably didn’t want to fuck said jaguar either, so.

Two fingers revved his engine. A third and Lance was _loud_ and s _hameful_ and so filled with the simple need for dick that it was all he said.

“Give me your cock, fuck. Want it in me so bad, Keith. Please. Please”

The jaguar’s vocal vibrated dual voices like someone layered the audio in Windows Movie Maker, but instead of disjointed chords that confirmed the devil existed it was dark snarls over a husky human purr. “You good?”

“Dude, fuck me or I will do it myself, shit.”

Keith almost sounded annoyed. “Fine, you want this dick?”

“Duh.”

“I’m so going to make you eat shit,” Keith laughed.

Suddenly the pretty slick fingers in his ass were coiling tight around one hipbone with a pair of dry fingers on the other. Keith snapped Lance back, brought his ass up and head down, and prepped his cock with a condom and lube.

“Shit that’s pretty hot,” Lance moaned, peering from where he currently ate cotton.

Fingers scraped down the cushions, it smelled like pretty things that ran feral, the sweetness of summer, green grass, wet dirt, and opened blue skies.  Knees widened as best they could.

Hard thighs pressed to the back of his and the fingers at his hips once again played the game of half-human and half-exotic cat. The position reminded him of a scene stripped straight off of those nature shows where the alpha lion mounted a heat raging lioness, biting her nape so the male could fuck in without her going mental. And then wondered if it was ingrained instinct or a conscious act to put Lance on his knees like this with his ass out.

Fuck it, hot was hot.

“Dude you’re fucking me like a cat,” he said because who didn’t like to throw in some bestiality talk into their sex.

Keith gripped his cock and pushed in steadily, groaning, “Just shut up and let me fuck you.”

“Ah—‘mma just saying. Shit.”

Keith’s hips snapped forward with a wet slap, his thighs bruised Lance’s.

And Lance would very much like to keep talking shit and rile Keith up but that dick inside him was lining up shot and hitting on every damn mark. All the bells and whistled went off, ding ding ding, Keith you’re nailing that ass fucking right and good.

Went in deep and long.

Rammed in fast and hard.

Fucked Lance like he was some lioness in heat and showing off the goods for a good dick and Keith was the lion—oops jaguar— to do just that and more so the lioness had a good idea who was the fucking king of this jungle.

He told Keith that much, “Fuck. Good kitty. Good kitty.”

The nails sharpened, his thrusts wrecked his equilibrium, and his ass could not get enough, damn. Felt his ass clench down greedy. Felt it open up.

“Fuck, your ass…so damn good.”

“You should be me, it’s better down here,” he said, drool ran into the fabric. That wouldn’t be the worst thing that been on it.

Keith slinked low, almost barely touching Lance, and said, “I got you beat. My view is better.”

His breath hitched. Lance licked his lips, “Yea?”

“Yea, fucking gorgeous. Fucking perfect. And mine.” Keith slithered back, the whole zero contact of skin to skin and Lance was positive Keith did that intentionally to tick him off and to starve him for the touch of his chest on his back, for the weight of were’s muscled pectorals on his shoulders, for the slick perspiration on their bodies.

 Lance turned his face to one side and looked back. Saw Keith’s wild hair plastered to his pink cheeks. Watched hips fucked in and out cruel and punishing. Bullseye. Ace shooter Keith, he’d hit his target.

Did.

Oh boy, he did hit them.

Fucking wrecked Lance’s poor prostrate like the fucker bullied him and stole his lunch as a kid and now he was the bully and that fuckhead was his bitch.

Felt nails turn into dagger claws, the skin dented under the points. Felt sweat run down the valley of his spine. Felt the damn sofa shake cause of Keith and his crazy jaguar strength, the legs of the sofa screeched across the hardwood floors. Felt balls slapping at his ass. Felt hot surges of heat drop low and sweet to his dick.

Every grind set off fireworks.

Boom.

Close.

Another ball of gun powder, color, and lights.

Fuck, fuck— _right there, right there. Please_

“Shit. I’m gonna cum, fuck. Can I cum, baby?”

Oh my god, why would he say that unless he wanted Lance to cry and sob and start jerking his dick so he cum with him and squeeze down hard on his cock and milk him until he cried?

“Yea, yea,” Lance worked one shoulder to tolerate his weight and got the other around his cock, pumping fast and crude. “Go on, baby. Cum in me.”

“Oh fuckkk…” Keith moaned.

Fucked back as hard as he could manage. Wanted Keith d _eep, deep, deep_ in him. _Buried. Wrecked. Destroyed._ Hooked on him and only him.

Succeeded in that notion when Keith praised him again, called him perfect and pretty, said how good he was doing, said what a tight ass he had, said he loved how badly Lance was sucking down on him.

Good Lance.

Pretty Lance.

There went the shivers again, displaying his weakness for Keith’s cat eyes.

Dude talked lower, gruffer, voice coal black and so close to the ocean floor you would need a crew and a submarine to find it in the unconquered depths.

“You just know how to take me cock, baby. Please, take it. Take me, fuck.”

Lance thought, _yes sir, yes sir_ but his mouth said total garbage. Something along the lines of _ahhhh._

Good thing Keith was fluent in Lance, he groaned,” Lance, are you— shit. You close?”

“Yea, yea. Don’t stop.” His hand slicked down his cock fast and lewd. Played with the head a little and went back to tugging himself.

Keith’s dragged his cock out and slammed it in; the movement grew more frantic and desperate. “Shit. I’m not— _Fuck_.” He tensed for a split second, a noise like a roar rumbling out his vocal chords, before he snapped forward body on autopilot and doped up on his orgasm

Maybe he wasn’t that close prior but now everything change with that roar migrating shudders over his body and those hips helplessly trying to do their job and get Lance to cum too.

What a good kitty.

“Shit, shit. _Keith.”_

 

[x]

 

 

Lance had the privilege of being the log in bed, Keith draped an arm and leg over him and Lance pressed him close to his side so Keith’s ear were parallel to the calm beats of his heart. The breaths on his chest were even and carefree. Seemed funny to remember this jungle cat was bleeding and hissing on his tio’s property no more than a few months ago. Now the jungle cat was his and he scarcely hissed at him unless Lance was trying to be a dick.

Maybe this escape from the real world wasn’t such a lame idea.

Lance drew delicate circle on Keith’s skin. There were patches of abrasive, puckered up ridges, Lance was especially tender to those. Studied their shape intimately. Administered great kindness to the unkind day Keith got them.

He said, voice a tender thing, “Hey?”

“Hmm?” Keith hummed, eyes closed.

“Why were you living in the woods?”

He thought Keith had fallen back to sleep because whole minutes ticked away, wordless. Not that he minded, the question bubbled up unprovoked and felt like asking.

“People scare me,” Keith said softly, a young flame in a world of overbearing shadows. “Does that sound dumb to you?”

What was dumb was the red hatred that built at Keith’s confession. That had a million connotations, a million stories, a million people who mistreated Keith cause he got furry sometimes. He remembered Keith’s words, _people usually freak_.

Lance squeezed him for the million times that someone didn’t. For the times he’d earned it but got hatred or fear instead. For the future that he would fill with a million more hugs, kisses, and love.

World didn’t want Keith, fine.

Lance hated sharing.

Fuck you.

His kitty now, losers

Lance swallowed down the lump in his throat. “Nah. It’s okay to be scared every once in a while.”

“Thanks.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

Lance still had nightmares but they’re less scary. Didn’t wake up like he was dying but woke up either in Keith’s arms or with a jaguar’s thick skull plopped on his chest. Keith wouldn’t coo or hush his emotions, he held him, touched the parts the fire scorned, and tied him back down to reality. Sometimes there were no nightmares and Keith spooned his back and let Lance curl up small and cute into him.

 There were days Keith just took care of him for no reason other than he wanted to, he’d make breakfast, he’d fish, he’d chop wood. He would jump into the bath with Lance and massaged sweet smelling shampoo into his chestnut hair and Lance would gather bubbles and make them both pirate beards over the real stubble on their jaws.

There were days when unspoken heartache resurfaced in Keith’s mind—like he was a private guy and he vocally spoke about it a few times— and Lance would read it so quick and respond with tactile affection. He learned Keith didn’t need words but actions. Guy had demons but Lance was willing to wait for him to speak them freely.

Love was delicate like that. Soft like that. Slow like that. Patient. Understanding.

Every day, Lance felt a little less burnt. Like he wasn’t covered from head to toe in scabs.

He was covered in cat hair but it was good, better than scabs.

And he hoped Keith was losing his own scabs along with him.

No scabs.

Just the pink, soft skin under it, healed.

 

 

[x]

 

 

“We’re going out,” Lance declared and chucked a pair of shoes in the gap between Keith’s thighs.

Hey he would fit nice and fine right there— no, no; they needed groceries like toilet paper, toothpaste, lube, condoms. The basic stuff, they weren’t savages.

Keith lowered the book, black brows arched and eyes droppy. He looked no truer to a domesticated house cat than in this moment. “Why?”

“Cause I can’t shit and bury my poo like—“

“If you say like a cat, I will smother you.”

Lance went by the sofa where his cat boyfriend laid lazy on his back with book, dipped nice and low so his lips caressed the shell of Keith’s cute ears and whispered. “Like. A. Cat.”

“That’s it.” Keith shot up, got both hands on Lance and hefted him on the sofa and under his body.

“Wait, forgive me!”

Keith picked up one of the pillow that had fallen during the manhandling and created a pillow shaped shadow right above Lance’s face. “Bye Lance. I will miss you for a day.”

After the murder attempted, they went to a Walmart. He found Keith perusing shampoos and conditioners.

He called, smirk a mile wide but Keith couldn’t see that with his back to him. “Keith?”

“Yea,” he said, distracted as he read the tiny texts on the back.

 He re-shelved it a second later to see what Lance wanted.

Lance presented two cans, “So Nine Lives or Friskies?”

“I am going to murder you.” He bolted after him.

Lance screamed, gingerly set the items back on the shelf, and ran.

One emotionally hollowed employee stacked and organized the end cap and droned at their shrieking sneakers over the floor, “No running please.”

“Keith, she said no running. No running—ah! Oh my god, “he tackled Lance and locked him in his arms, walking backwards down the aisle where there were no witnesses.  Keith launched an assault over the drumming pulse of his jugular, mockingly biting the skin.

Lance stifled his snickers at the action, it was such a big cat maneuver— he checked a few books at the local library on jaguars in an effort to educate himself and sate his burning curiosity, he knew little about jaguars specifically—and wondered if Keith had the awareness that the jaguar peeked through even in his human form.

This was eerily close to the brutal animal kills on TV. Unlike those sad sods, his pretty kitty would never hurt.

Lance pleaded to his wild jungle cat, voice darkening in pitch when the lips and tongue at his neck turned heated and wicked, “Please don’t murder me. Who else will buy you cat nip?”

Teeth nipped enough to elicit redness to the skin’s surface. “You do realize jaguars have one of the most powerful jaws out there? Like next to crocodiles and shit.”

Was it weird that that turned him on little?

Yea, it was weird.

And that probably unearthed a plethora of concerning issues in regards to his psyche if thought being dragged off like a poor lesser prey by his jaguar boyfriend was attractive. Whatever, could your boyfriend shift into a stunning, muscled jungle cat.

Then okay. Don’t judge him.

“Is that your way of saying you have the powerhouse of mouths for dick sucking?”

Later on, at the electronics section Lance flipped through a National Geographic and found unflattering pictures of big cats, went to Keith, tapped his shoulder and said, “That’s you.”

“That’s a leopard.”

Lance flipped to another page, this had a spiky lizard. “That’s you.”

Keith took the magazine, flipped, saw a dorky looking hippo and said, “This is you.”

“Why are you so mean to me? Also,” he leaned over and skimmed the pages. He stopped on one with a furry spider. “That’s you.”

“Oh yea, well…that’s you.”

“This one.”

“Are we really doing this?”

“Hell yes, we are. Now find one of me.”

“Fine, fine. Here.”

Lance kissed him even after Keith pointed to a gross mountain of baby spiders and said that was his butt.

 

[x]

 

 

Keith cupped his hands against the sun and glared at the football wedged high up in the tree. “You’re fucking kidding me, Lance. It’s in the god damn tree.”

He redirected his glare at Lance who was still impressed with himself at that spiral.

He was nodding his head, smiling, until he saw that scowl.

“I’m sorry, okay. God, not my fault I’m fucking beast as hell,” he protested.

Keith rolled his eyes. “Shut up and get the ball.”

He nudged him, childishly, and pointed at the ten feet tall tree. “You’re the cat. You get it.”

Keith bumped back, not unkindly. “You threw it up there. You get it.”

“Fine, fine,” he huffed, body shagging with defeat and melodrama.

He walked over to the thick base and shimmied his feet over the exposed roots. He pressed his chest to the bark, looked up, stepped on his toes and did a bunny hop for the lowest branch. The bark scraped his palms twice when he fell.

Keith covered his mouth, in awe of his boyfriend’s zero ability to climb a tree. “Wow.”

“Would you shut up, thanks,” he said to the tree.

The tree was nice and understanding unlike some people and didn’t criticize Lance for his lack of expertise.

Lance made some adjustment to his technique and tried for the branch.

“Are you trying to climb it or hump it?”

He grumbled, “I will throw your ass up there.”

“Yea and I would jump back down. I’m a jaguar, remember. Trees are not that big of a deal…Okay. This isn’t working get on your knees.”

“But the lube is inside,” Lance glanced back, confused. “— oh you mean…never mind.”

Keith started untying his shoes. “I’ll fuck you afterwards if you want.”

“No, no. I don’t want you to feel obligated to fuck me.” Lance went into a crouch, a heavy weight planted on his back and launched up. Claws drilled into the bark and acted as anchors as the jaguar wiggled up the tree. Keith reached the ball and pushed it between the branches holding it imprisoned. It broke free after some encouragement.

Lance caught it on the way down and smiled bright.

Keith scaled down, legs spreads out, and pushed off the tree with his hind legs once he made it halfway down the tree and folded neatly on the grass. He shifted over to pretty, human Keith with wind swept hair and dark violets.

Lance pointed the ball at him, “You have to stop doing that.”

“What?”

“Doing weird hot werejaguar stuff,” he explained and threw the ball from hand to hand idly “I feel like PETA is frowning upon me every time I get a half chub.”

Keith rolled up smooth to his front, knocked the ball out of his hand, and redirected Lance to the tree back first. “Then I’m not going to stop.”

He recognized the animal coiling up for dinner but he played dumb and asked. “Why?”

“Cause you’re my human. Now take your dick out, I wanna suck you off.”

Lance unzipped his fly and pulled his cock out, half hard and red. “Oh shit, right _here?_ ”

“Yea, right outside where anyone can see.”

 Black hair dipped low.

“ _Keith_.”

 

 

[x]

 

Lance dragged his hand from the crest of Keith’s jaguar head to the center of his spine. The lazy jungle cat slept soundly on top of his body as his weight nearly crushed his boyfriend. Good thing Lance was a firefighter. They trained in heavy gear and his jungle cat made little difference.

 Gentle breaths fanned his cheeks when Keith inhaled and then exhaled. His ears twitched when Lance touched them light as if they were feathers on a dove. A flat nose drove under his chin and massive paws cupped the set of his shoulder as best they could without thumbs.

“I was thinking,” he started, hands still petting his pretty jungle cat, the jaguar rumbled a low acknowledgment. “Say I wanted to go back and try doing my know fire thing, would you wanna come?”

The jaguar lifted its elegant neck, eyes like liquid ambers fixing on him, and rubbed the apples of his face over his to spread his scent.

Lance giggled and squirmed away but Keith followed and rubbed his cheeks over and over.

“That a yes?” He laughed, arm thrown over as a shield to thwart the loving predator.

A shimmer passed and a human face smiled down at him. “Lead the way, hero.”

“Oh my god. Stop.” He covered his face.

“My man gonna be a sexy firefighter.”

Lance spoked behind his arms. “Shut up, shut up.”

“There’s a fire right here, fireman. Better put it out.”

“You’re so gross,” he cried.

Keith pried his arms and kissed his pouty lips, kisses made of Band-Aids, kisses that said he was proud, kisses that promised to back his ass every step of the way, kisses that were grateful for his heroism, the kindness he had bestowed on a stranger, kisses that inspired Shakespearean old sonnets, kisses that you only read about in Hallmark cards, kisses that translated _I’ll fight fire with you_.

In the background, they had a fire going.

Flames did their whole snap, crackle, pop routine.

Shadow grew haunting, dark forms on the rug placed a feet away from the fire pit; Lance did that on the first night, paranoid and stupid. That could be half of that measurement, he felt brave.

Felt warm and furry and it wasn’t cause of all the fur Keith literally ran all over his face and clothes.

Burning wood coasted his noise.  The scent on Keith overpowered, he smelled wild and full of nature like damp leaves after the rain, wet bark, soft earth.

A thin smoke misted the living room, if he opened one eye while he made out with Keith then he could see the plumes whisking up, the yellow and blue of the fire, the black char on the bark.

And—

No meltdown. No alarm wailing. No dive and cover, Lance, you’re going to die.

He saw the fire danced as the wind outside drifted under the pried window and thought, _bitch I’m coming back for you and I’m bringing my jaguar too._

 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr:pro-derp  
> twitter: @angry_latte


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